


Untouchable

by ZapLovely



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alternate universe where the capitals haven't won the cup yet, hockey fights gone wrong, hurt!nicke, rivalries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 00:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZapLovely/pseuds/ZapLovely
Summary: Nicklas couldn't blame the Penguins more than he could blame himself.He prayed that Alex didn't feel the same way.(Or, Nick gets hurt on the ice and has a realization)





	Untouchable

Pittsburgh was one win away from becoming conference final champions. For the third time.

Alex didn’t speak to him until they were on the ice. They were three simple words, “Let’s do this.”

Those words were only meant for Nick. Air found it's way into his lungs as he responded like he always did, "Yeah, why not?"

Forty minutes later he started to think that maybe they could get away with it. The game itself was a whirling mess of penalties and cursing. Snapped sticks. A roaring crowd. The ice could've cracked from all the smack talk being spoken. Even the refs couldn't forced it down half the time. Nicklas had started sweating long before the first period started, but that’s just how games against the Penguins went. Their colors tended to rub against each other in the worst way when they were together.

From the bench, Nicklas trained his eyes on the play in front of him. They all skated close and bumped shoulders, unnecessarily. That didn’t stop a small smirk from crossing his face at the small things. Wilson brushing against Crosby. Holtby snapping at the ankles of Penguins that got too close to him. Or when they taunted loudly from the bench. It may be considered bad sportsmanship, but Nicklas couldn’t muster up the energy to care. Especially when the other team was in the same boat they were.

It was a miracle that no blood had found its way onto the ice.

“What you think he say?” Alex gestured across the ice to Crosby, who was in conversation with a ref. Ovi's face was pink with effort, and he squinted past the all the sweat to center ice. Nick followed his gaze and responded shortly.

“Probably the shove Tom did.”

Alex nodded as if remembering something. “Oh, yeah. With Sid, you never know, yes?”

The two of them watched the ref explain something to the other captain before skating away. Sidney’s whole body sighed. He seemed more tired than mad. Nick wondered if Crosby was ever going to go grey, even at the temples. But the championship banners that swung from the arena ceiling said otherwise.

He then snuck a glance to the man beside him, feeling something sink in his chest. Ovi never looked tired, only disappointed. Year after year. But eventually the season would fade, and the Alex that called his name at the draft would come back with a toothless grin.

Alex catches him staring and smiles. It reaches his eyes, despite the type of game they're playing.

Nick never wants it to go away.

A whistle then pierces through the thin air of the rink, sinking into his ears. The chatting bench snaps back to attention, some of them starting to stand. He stares at the players slowly mixing together. The line of his mouth frowns at the image.

Nicklas then heaves himself up and hops over the boards, forcing the muscles in his face smooth out. Pittsburgh had enough power over them, and Nick wouldn’t give his emotions out to them even if he tried.

Before he could get any further from the bench, Alex places a quick pat on his back. It’s solid. And it knocks out the little nerves Nick still gets when he begins playing.

And that’s when things started to fall.

 

He couldn’t see the face of the man above him. Nicke’s eyes only seemed to be able to blink around the flashes of his fists. The strikes faded to black before opening back into a world of red. Metal ran down his throat through the noises in his chest, staining the meaning of them. They sounded gargled and weak. Everything was forced through, like a beg.

Nicklas Backstrom does not beg.

Reaching up past all the swings- past the black and yellow- he then gripped onto the others shoulder, tugging erratically at the fabric. The man ignores it and tightens the front of Nick’s jersey around his knuckles. Whoever was above him is stunningly quiet throughout the fight. No jeers fell between the two. The concentration in the hits took up a lot of his time.

A whistle sounds from the sidelines, and nothing stops. Faintly, he can hear the ice get shaved thin as players stop suddenly.

Truth be told, Nicklas could barely remember getting thrown to his back in the first place. But the crack of his head when it hit the ice was still rattling through his teeth. He guessed it all must’ve been quick. Every punch sent him back into the ice, and past the roaring audience, he could hear the thump of every throw in his own ears. It almost matched the beat of his heart.

Planting his elbow into the ice below, he then tried to lift his body up. Nick was trained to work against gravity- against the pull of something greater. But none of his previous exercises or fights could’ve broke skin like this. He thrashed hard against the blood pooling in his eye sockets. It only managed to sway they guy slightly. The color of the man’s jersey seemed to suck the light out of the rink.

He forced his eyes to stay open against the sting- he wanted one chance, out of all of this.

Nick’s face pounded with heat, and like a fever, the cycle finally broke. Red and white figures clawed at the person above him. The man’s hands were pulled away, covered in a slick red. He writhes, crashing against the resistment. Soon, it is snuffed by refs and a couple of hits to the head.

A window opens. Nicklas takes it- crashing his knuckles into the bone of the man’s jaw. His mouth guard flies from his teeth. Nick wished some blood had followed his one hit, but he was dragged away before he could see.

Nick guessed that the whine of pain was enough for now.

He laid there. Lights above glittered red. The ice was hot.

Breathing through the clawing black of his vision, he then slowly turned himself over, pressing the side of his face into the ice. Yells bubbled around him in a familiarity that was almost calming. The stadium became even louder, and the shaking of the boards sent drifts of air over him. It settled his growing nausea for a second, and for once he was thankful to be surrounded by a crowd of people.

He didn’t realize he closed his eyes before someone touched his shoulder. A flinch startled the both of them, but Nick laid limp after the jolt. Slowly, the hand then moved upwards, cupping the space behind his ear. A shaky sigh rolled out past all the blood.

“Shit.” Alex breathed out above him. 

Nick lolled his eyes open, trying to see around all the bruises. Alexander’s face was frozen with an emotion Nicke couldn’t focus on. His jersey was ruffled, pulled multiple ways across his pads. Red knuckles. No cuts and bruises, though. A rush of warmth hit Nicklas even harder than the punches had.

“I’m glad one of us won that fight.” The words were strained.

Alex didn’t respond. His hair seemed even more gray now that Nick thought about it. He had to swallow down the rising bile.

He spoke again. “I’m sorry.” It came out more wobbly than expected.

Alex knitted his brow together. His thumb ran over the skin behind his ear, and it was more comforting than Nick would admit. “What you mean?”

Something about the tender hold of Alex’s hand made everything feel tighter. An answer crashed around his head, but he couldn’t grasp it. He kept his mouth closed, gulping down copper. Alex continued to rub the soft skin, letting the question go for now.

A steady thud then appeared- down the surface of the ice. Everyone else in the rink would feel nauseated by the sound, but Nick wouldn’t dare doubt it in his position. The thick black boots were coming his way, pushing past shaved ice.

Giving Alex one last stare, Nick then let his eyes roll shut. He didn’t want to see the look on the medical staff’s faces, anyway.

“Step aside, Ovi.”

It took a couple of beats before Alex compiled. His fingers lingered on Nick’s ear, probably leaving white spots behind. When his hand finally left, someone else spoke.

“Hey, you still with us?” They exclaimed. Something soft poked at his forehead to urge him up, and a thick towel was then placed underneath his head.

“Unfortunately.” Nick slurred, slitting one eye open. He had talked to the medical man in front of him multiple times in his career, mostly on things not related to hockey. They always joked that they hoped to see little of each other during their respective jobs.

He spouted some directions to his assistant, who was now feeling around the back of Nicklas’ head. In between his hair she prodded, making his face twist. Another conversation passed over, falling useless on his ears. What was even worse than that was the collective breath caught in the stomach of the stadium. The worry. Not a lot of people were in the team benches as well, so they were either fighting one another or staring.

Now the man's hand was on his shoulder, firm. He placed a rag on his face and wiped gently, coming back with more blood than Nick anticipated. “Do you think you can stand, Nick?”

Before he could respond, some movement caught his eye. A glare of silver, getting closer. He closed his eye again, not daring to look up.

“I don’t know.” Nick answered honestly, knowing the pressure in his head would ache if he got up.

Those simple words were met with a squeeze to his shoulder. “We need a yes or no.” He said knowingly.

“I wouldn’t risk it, bud.” Something ran up Nick’s spine at the suggestion, challenging him. He could see the black and yellow through the skin of his eyes.

“...I can stand.” Nicklas threw back stiffly, opening his eyes and staring up at Crosby. Surprise broke through his concern for a second, but it stayed in place. Sid then stood taller, backing up. His eyes couldn’t seem to leave the scene before him.

Nick couldn’t recall Sidney ever being that pale. Or worried.

Screwing his eyes shut, Nicklas willed his body to move, propping himself onto his elbows.

He doesn’t remember much after standing up with the medical staff. Just the sight of his skates clamoring across the ice. And the low, sweet press of a hand on his back.

**Author's Note:**

> Update coming soon! I also REALLY appreciate comments!!!
> 
> (Also my tumblr is 'demontkachuk' if you wanna know)


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